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by Fireglass
Summary: -Utopia, that was the lie Eckhart had left behind in her insanity, and now dreams of paradise had destined two young men for a future that could promise them nothing in certainty.- Post-Shambala Movie. Character deaths.


Closing the portal had taken too much out of him. And if he'd thought it would happen this way, hell, he never would have come through to this side. Neither of them would have. They would have still been in Amestris, with Winry and Roy and the rest.

Instead they were lying on the floor of this warehouse he knew not where—he couldn't even remembered getting there—and the components of a hundred different chemicals and raw material things were scattered around him. And there were runes, all up and down his arms, black emblazoned against pale skin.

He was lying on his back, watching the ravens flirt across the rafters. His eyes didn't see much of them; all they saw was the darkness he was destined for.

There was one component they hadn't needed to close the portal; they hadn't brought it, either, but it was there just the same.

That component was blood, and it was everywhere; it had spilled out of them both when Eckhart's men had found them, shot them in their defenselessness because they still thirsted after a world they could never understand. Utopia, that was the lie Eckhart had left behind in her insanity, and now dreams of paradise had destined two young men for a future that could promise them nothing in certainty.

Of course, the slaves of Eckhart's mad whims were dead; though significantly weakened in this world, alchemy was not a perished art. He could feel its effects still in his veins...like it was the only thing left. And it almost was; he hadn't even known a fourteen year old could bleed this much.

A low groan roused him from his own thoughts of mortality; painfully, every bullet hole in his body screaming with agony, he flipped himself over onto his stomach.

Ed watched the rafters, too, and there was more blood around him than there was around Al. It looked like he'd taken a bath in it.

And Al began to crawl, painstakingly slow, to his brother's side. Agony burned away his life like fire shimmying up a frayed rope. Everything spun in a hazy swirl around him. He vomited blood, and kept going until he couldn't go any farther.

_Maybe I should have stayed in that stupid suit of armor, after all._

He collapsed, his arm outstretched, and his hand fell into Ed's. And there was something fitting about the fact that they would die here, having given their lives for the protection of the world they had fought for. Eckhart's men were dead, speared with alchemic power, and the whole Shambala nonsense could die with them.

An unwitting smile came over Al's face.

" Alphonse."

Ed's voice was just a breath.

" Yes, brother?" Al whispered.

Ed's laugh was sharp, and it cut off very quickly with a wet smacking sound, like he'd choked on his own blood.

" I love you, little brother."

" I know, Ed." Tears burned and overflowed from Al's eyes. He rested his cheek against his hand and Ed's, palm to palm, and closed his eyes. " I know."

Ed laughed again, and it cut off even more abruptly; and Al felt the life leave him as the fingers around his loosened. The tears slipped down his cheeks.

_You always said you would be the first one to die, brother_.

He wept and wept as he bled, until the strength left him, but his hand never left Ed's. And in the last burst of life that left his body, he channeled all of his strength and gave it one last command.

Al didn't live to see how the warehouse collapsed, burying the memory of the unconquered Shambala forever, or how his and Ed's bodies vanished through the portal to the other side. He did not bear witness to Winry finding their bodies, or the state funeral they were both given.

Al only knew bright light, for a long time, and then fear in the monotony of it all. Fear in the memory of not being able to find his way, and of a piece of him being stuck in limbo, forever and ever...

He twisted and turned and fought against the light, tried to fight his way even back to the darkness and pain, because anything was better than the limbo.

And then, with that strange inherent sense, he knew he was no longer alone.

" Al, you big baby." The voice that mocked him was gentle. " There's nothing to be scared of. I'm right here, remember?" And Ed was before him—not dead, not bleeding, but smiling and whole, his golden eyes glinting, one hand extended. " C'mon, Al. It's time to go home."

And Al didn't know where home was, but it suddenly didn't matter. He reached for Ed's hand and they ran toward the light, unafraid, together like always—straight on to the next great adventure.


End file.
